


For The Warmth

by HelenVanPattersonPatton



Category: The Mindy Project
Genre: Classic trope, F/M, Huddling For Warmth, Sharing a Bed, That old chestnut, Trapped together during a snowstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:53:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenVanPattersonPatton/pseuds/HelenVanPattersonPatton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny gets stranded at Mindy's during a nasty winter storm. It's the old, trapped together during a snowstorm trope. Need I say more? Set in between 2x08: You've Got Sext, and 2x09: Mindy Lahiri Is a Racist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *Author's Disclaimer: I understand the likelihood of all of Manhattan's public transportation - especially the subway system - being shut down in its entirety basically does not ever happen. But for the purpose of fiction we're all going to collectively agree that this is a thing that is plausible. Agreed? Agreed.

 

* * *

Mindy is prepared. Sort of. She did forget to buy real food. It's okay though, because there is some pasta, a couple cans of soup and stuff in her cupboard, and some, perhaps dubious frozen pizzas that may have been in her freezer since before she went to Haiti. But there is _plenty_ of wine. She made sure of that and stocked up really well. After all, she is an adult who watches the news. Or. Well. Accidentally overheard someone on the subway saying something about 'massive ice storm' and then checked the weather on her phone. Same thing. Mindy is prepared for anything. Bring on the ice, you Arctic-blast bastard!

She's got her most snowstorm appropriate pajamas on - the icy-blue colored ones with the big snowflakes on them and her fuzziest socks, has just opened a very yummy Malbec, and is confronting the hardest decision of the entire evening: Young Meg Ryan? Or, not-as-young-but-still-adorable Meg Ryan? Huh. She has a day or two probably, might as well make it last. She'll start with When Harry Met Sally and then work her way all the way through to You've Got Mail, and maybe even Kate & Leopold. This is going to be a great snow storm.

Harry is just about to explain to Sally on the way to New York how men and women can't really be friends because even if they think they're friends the men still secretly want to sleep with the women, and, therefore, can never be 'just friends'. Which is complete bullshit. Mindy has plenty male friends who she is clearly just friends with, so Harry has it totally wrong.

Mindy is engrossed in the argument she's having in her head with a fictional character, and jumps when there's a knock on her door, almost spilling some of the Malbec. She doesn't move. It's probably crazy Mrs. Kotsiopoulos, and if she's very still, and very quiet, the old lady will go away. She mutes the TV. The knocking starts again, more like banging really, and Mrs. Kotsiopoulos must be in pretty good shape. She wonders as she tiptoes to the door to look through the pep-hole if it will give away her movements?

"Mindy? I know you're home. I could hear your TV."

"Danny?!" Mindy throws open her front door, and, yup, Danny. And oh god, "Whoa, you look terrible! What happened to you?"

"I got stuck. I was working late finishing up some paperwork and I didn't notice it was snowing. By the time I realized and made it to the subway station everything was shut down. Did you know the buses aren't even running?"

"Yeah. The mayor shut everything down. You do know the entire state of New York has been declared a federal state of emergency and we're supposed to get like three feet of snow and ice, right?"

"No! I did not know that! You think if I'd a known that I would have stayed at the office, almost getting stranded, to work on some stupid charts? Why didn't you tell me when you left earlier?"

"I don't know, Danny. For one thing, you're an adult and I just kind of expect you to know these things. Isn't the weather channel all you DVR? And I distinctly remember you saying," - Mindy goes into her best super-macho-Italian, Danny Castellano impersonation - " _Real men respect that weather is a bitch you don't wanna mess with. Never forget Sandy. Never forget._ "

"Okay, that's offensive. Sandy was a national tragedy."

"Did you walk here?"

"Yes! I told you. The subway and buses had already shut down. I think I have frostbite."

"Jeez, that's like -" Mindy does the mental math from Shulman to her apartment - "twenty-six blocks!"

"I know that. I just walked them. Are you going to let me in?"

She hesitates, just for a second, but it's long enough that Danny takes it as a no and turns back towards the elevator. "Danny. Stop. Of course you can come in."

It's when he steps out of the soft yellow light of the hallway and into her apartment, shrugging off his soaking wet coat, a crunchy layer of ice still clinging to the shoulders, that she notices the broken blood vessels spider-webbing across his face. His hands are shaking as he tugs at his scarf, fingers a tinged a purpley-red and the skin at his knuckles cracked.

"Danny," she whispers, tugging on his wrist, bringing him into the kitchen and turning on the bright overhead light. "This is frostbite."

"Yeah. I said that."

"I thought you were being dramatic; this is bad." She flips the tap on and lets it get warm. "Here." Mindy takes his hands gently and pulls them into the stream. He flinches when the water touches him, but he doesn't pull away.

Slowly his skin loses that purple tint and changes to an even, vibrant crimson. And with apparent warmth and feeling returning, Danny starts to shiver, his shoulders trembling and teeth chattering. "Stay like this. I'm going to turn on the shower."

Mindy grabs a towel and makes sure that the water coming out of the shower-head is warm and not hot. When she walks back in the kitchen his teeth aren't chattering as badly and she tugs on his elbow to get him moving down the hall.

While he's in the bathroom she goes rifling through her closet looking for wayward pieces of clothing left behind by random exes.

She thinks about just leaving everything in the hall before knocking softly on the door.

"Yeah?" His voice is muffled by the pounding water.

"I'm putting a change of clothes just inside the door, okay?"

"'kay."

Mindy turns the knob and a wave of steam slips through the crack. It's weird and not altogether unpleasant smelling her soap and shampoo being used by someone else, it smells different somehow when you're on the other sides of it. She shoves the clothes through the opening, dropping them in a heap on the floor - then she peeks. She really doesn't mean to, it just happens. And she can't see anything anyway, not really. With the shower on the other side of the door all she can see from where she stands is his distorted image through the opaque shower curtain reflected in the fogged over mirror. Mindy doesn't see anything that isn't completely abstract, the dark smudge of his hair and color of his skin. She closes the door soundlessly and finishes her wine.

* * *

There is an extra glass of wine sitting on the coffee table when he comes out of the bathroom. Mindy's on the couch, knee pulled up under her chin, wineglass in her left hand and cell phone in her right. "Do I want to know who's clothes I'm wearing?"

She looks up at him, that bright, closed-mouth smile on her face she's been giving him a lot recently, and shakes her head. "Probably not."

"Good to know." Danny picks up the glass and sits on the sofa, right in the middle where he can feel the tips of her toes through the thick material of her socks pressing against his thigh, and takes a long sip of wine. It's spicy and tastes like black cherries and currants and he bets that's how her mouth tastes right now too.

Damn it. He should not have come here. It hasn't even been two weeks since she spent the night at his apartment. Less than two weeks since he thought she had feelings for him and it made him start to consider things he never had before. It's been eleven days - he's been counting - since he had his arm around her shoulders, her body shockingly tiny, fitting perfectly against him, his lips brushing a kiss in her hair.

"How are you feeling?"

"Ah, I'm all right. It's not too bad. Just needed to get warmed up." He flexes his free hand to show her, and it's true, he's fine, the skin on his hands looking no worse than an abrasive windburn. "So what have we got going on here," he tips his head toward the TV where the DVD player's screensaver is bouncing from side to side.

"We have a Meg Ryan movie marathon, starting at the beginning with your personal favorite, When Harry Met Sally." He must be scowling because she hastily adds, "And if you grumble about what I'm watching I reserve the right to kick you out. I'm sure Mrs. Kotsiopoulos upstairs would love to have you stay with her."

"Hey," he puts his hand up in defense, "this is your party. Do up all the Meg Ryan you can stomach."

"Oh. Okay." She looks a little startled by this easy acquiescence and he hides his smile behind the wine glass. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Danny picks the remote up off the coffee table and is about to hit the play button, then asks, "Why do you say this is my personal favorite?"

"Well, deduction. Of the times I have had my favorite movies on in the doctor's lounge, this is the one you complained about the least. And, I've noticed that you know an awful lot about some of the secondary characters and the actors. You didn't just learn that from the bits and pieces you've seen with me. Ergo, you've willingly watched it at least a couple times before."

"Ergo, huh?"

"Yes, _ergo_. What of it?" Mindy prods at him with her toes.

He shrugs at her, because, yeah, that's accurate. "Alright, Sherlock, you're right."

"Ha! I knew it. You are such a sap, Danny, just admit it. You love this romantic crap."

"No. I'm not a sap. And I maintain this movie is ridiculous. It's just -" he shrugs. "My ma had the tape. I watched it with her."

"Aw, you love your mother, Danny?" She reaches a hand out to touch his arm, and she's doing that thing where her voice sounds really condescending and insincere, but she actually means it in a nice, genuine way.

"Of course I love my mother. Everyone loves their mother." He shakes off her hand. "We'd watch the VHS of Die Hard, too, so it's not like it was a thing."

He hits play and the movie starts back where she must have paused it earlier and he wills himself not to look at Mindy and the way she's smiling softly at him like she thinks he's full of a gooey marshmallow center.

Billy Crystal is just getting good and amped-up on his diatribe about men and women not being able to be friends because sex is always a part of it, and Danny wishes like crazy this was any other movie that has ever been made.

"That is such crap. Isn't it, Danny? Men don't really feel that way. I've got a ton of single guy friends and sex has never made our relationship awkward."

He thinks for a long moment, trying to come up with an answer that will appease her and contradict what is a sexist idea from a twenty-five year old movie. Yet all he can think is how horribly spot on that feels right now and how much easier it would be if he never had imagined what it would be like to have Mindy share his bed.

"Seriously?! Why do men think like that?" His silence an apparent agreement. "You guys are gross."

"I didn't say that. I'm just not coming up with a good argument against it."

"Well, it isn't true. I don't care what men think. I've got plenty of single guy friends I'm just platonic with."

"Phh! Name one!"

She thinks for a minute, her brow scrunching, and he needs to change the subject. He does _not_ need to be encouraging this train of thought.

"Jared!"

"Jared from your beauty parlor?"

"Well, I'm not a housewife in 1953, so it's not my _beauty parlor_ ," Mindy makes a face saying the words, "but yes. That Jared."

"Okay, first of all, Jared is married. And maybe more importantly, Jared is married to a _man_ , so you're 0 for 2 on that one."

"I don't have to give you a list. I know there are plenty, so..."

"Believe that if you want to, sweetheart, but we both know that any single, reasonably attractive male friends you have you've either dated, slept with, or tried to do both." Danny sees the obvious exception and hates himself a little for pointedly placing himself in whatever shithole of non-attractive relationship Siberia that puts him in. She doesn't seem to make the connection and he smirks at her triumphantly anyway.

Then Mindy narrows her eyes and, oh, he does not like that look. She shoves her fingertips hard against his chest. " _YOU_ are the exception to that, Danny. Duh. Clearly we have never dated and I _certainly_ never tried to have sex with you, so - who's the Sherlock now?"

Danny tries to smile and ignore the way his stomach plummets, the fine-point she put on how uninterested she is in him stinging. He should say something, anything to move this along, but even falling back on his usual snark is too much for him to hold on to, not even feeling up to pointing out that her gloating Sherlock comeback makes no sense. It feels a little like he's swallowed his tongue and he's glad his cheeks are frostbitten because he's pretty sure even if they weren't his face would be red.

The smile is rapidly slipping from her face, the moment starting to feel strange, and Danny grasps to say something that isn't pathetic. _Please, Lord, help me get out of this_ , he prays.

And there his answer is, in the form of a burnt offering. "Is something on fire?" He turns toward the smell and what looks like, yeah, smoke billowing out of her oven, the alarm starting to blare.

"Crap! The pizza!" Mindy runs to the kitchen and Danny raises a silent prayer of thanks; God does love him.

* * *

It is surprisingly easy after another bottle of wine, a dinner consisting of the worst pizza he's ever eaten - and that was the one she made _after_ the one she burned - to convince Mindy that if they are doing a best of Meg Ryan movie marathon chronologically they really should have started with Top Gun.

They drink almost three bottles of wine total and sing along to all the songs in the movie. Mindy unsurprisingly knows every word to 'Take My Breath Away' and they harmonize on 'You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling'. Mindy is tipsy when she goes to bed a little after midnight. No one else would notice it, she is a very good drinker. He notices. On her way to bed she kisses his cheek and tells him she's glad he's here. That's how he knows.

Danny lays awake a long time staring at the living room ceiling, thinking about how warm her lips felt against his skin. He really shouldn't have come here. He could have made it eleven more blocks uptown to his own apartment. Yeah, the frostbite would have been critical at that point. He could probably still perform a C-Section with the tips of his fingers missing though, couldn't he?


	2. Chapter 2

"Mindy."

"Mmm," she snuggles down lower and wonders what happened to her comforter. She's cold under just the top sheet.

"Mindy."

Shit. She doesn't want to get up and pull the comforter off the floor. The top sheet's not doing a lot, but it's better than getting out of bed.

" _Mindy_."

Her eyes crack open and, crap. What the hell is Danny doing in her bedroom? "What, pervert?"

"The power went out."

"Okay. Thanks for the update. Super useful waking me up to share that tidbit. Hand me my comforter; it's on the floor."

"No. You're laying under it."

"Huh?" She opens her eyes again, not remembering closing them, and, yeah, there it is, a few happily-colored birds against a field of white pulled all the way up to her neck, right where it should be. "Damn. It's -"

"Really cold? Yeah. It is. Is the heat for your building all electric?"

"That is an excellent, hard-hitting question, Danny. But I think you're getting me confused with my super. Which is raciest, by the way, just because we're both Indian."

"How is that raciest? I've never even met your super."

"Okay, buddy, it's a little too sub-freezing, middle of the night for you to be making this much sense. Take it down a notch."

"So - all electric heat, then?" Mindy glares at him but it's too dark in her room to have any impact. "Do you have extra blankets?"

"The one on the couch."

"Yeah, that thing is not warm."

"Um, there's a quilt in my closet. Top shelf by the window."

Danny disappears through the doorway and she can't help chuckling when she hears the click of the light-switch followed by a muttered curse. He grumbles, his voice muffled through the wall, "Yeah, yeah. It's reflex. You'd do the same."

"Never said I wouldn't. Is there enough light from the window to see where I mean? I can come get it..."

"Nah, I think I see it." It's quiet for a moment, followed by a crash that may or may not be a body falling to the ground and Mindy throws the covers back to go check on him. Until the cold air hits her and she shrinks back into the warmth of her bed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yep! I'm fine. I got it. Just - knocked off some shoes and -"

"My shoes?! You didn't hurt any of them did you? Can you see them? Do any of them have red soles?"

"They're fine." His shadow rounds into the room again. "And it's good to know that on a scale of things you are concerned about I rank lower than your shoes."

"Well, yes. But higher than my shelving unit. That's something, right?"

"I guess. Your concern is touching. Here." Danny shakes out the quilt. Folding it in half length-wise, so it's just the right size to cover her, tucking the edge in, and then he walks out of the room.

Mindy lies there a minute, still feeling cold, and not so much due to the lack of heat in her apartment. She shouldn't ask him. Talk about awkward. She _really_ doesn't want to think about what it would feel like waking up next to Danny in the morning. Then she thinks about that blanket she keeps draped across the corner of her sofa and how it's more decorative than functional -

"Danny?"

It's quiet and she thinks maybe he didn't hear her, and then he's in the doorway again, his form just a stain in the darkness. "Yeah?"

"Just - don't make me ask, okay? Get the blanket off the couch and - just don't make this weird. Or - weird _er_."

He stands there for a really long time, not saying anything, which doesn't make this _less_ weird, but at least he isn't talking. Finally he nods, walks back into the living room, and Mindy takes a shaky deep breath. This is going to be fine. Not weird at all. And maybe they won't freeze to death.

She unfolds the quilt so it will reach Danny's side too, and - okay, just thinking 'Danny's side' in reference to her bed is enough to make her feel hot in a not altogether unpleasant way, just - weird. This whole thing is weird. There is no other word for it. Her stomach is tightening with what feels misleadingly like anticipation, and it's so not that. It's just her and Danny sleeping together.

Jesus, shit. _Sharing a bed_ , not _sleeping together_ ; not that way. Mindy needs to get this under control pronto because, yeah, there he is, the silhouette of her friend rounding the foot of the bed and pulling back the covers to slide in.

Mindy thinks maybe she should come up with some witty something to say to break the tension, and every funny or acerbic thing is gone, vanished from memory. She lays there tongue-tied while he places the thin, cashmere throw generously over her, and scoots down, fixing his pillow and snaking his bare arms under the blankets. Danny's elbow brushes the sleeve of her pajama top and she nearly jumps out of the bed.

That's it. It is official. She is a freak.

She rolls away from him onto her left side, hoping that it appears she's just getting comfortable and _not_ that she's moving as far away from him as she can because she felt the heat of his skin through the flannel cloaking her arm and it _did_ something for her. She's cold and she wishes she was still a little bit drunk and she just needs to go to sleep as soon as possible and get this nightmare of a show on the road.

Mindy falls asleep after what feels like an hour knowing that Danny is still awake and pretty sure that the strange feeling she can't shake is his gaze on her back.

* * *

She rolls over, trying to get comfortable, that gross feeling of socks catching in the sheets reminding her, right, it's freezing. Danny is lying on his back next to her, not snoring exactly, but breathing loudly and even enough she can tell he's asleep. Her nose is frozen and her fingers and toes, despite being well covered, feel like they might break off if she bumped them hard against something.

Stupid all-electric heating. She's going to demand gas radiators be installed at the next building meeting. If she went to those kinds of things. Which she doesn't. She'll get Betsy to transcribe a letter. That'll be just as good.

A strongly worded letter is of no help to her right now, though, and she is bordering on pitiful. Mindy's right at the cusp of that place she goes to when she's really happy or uncomfortable - the 'imaginary narrating' place that she tries not to do out loud if she can help it - when she feels the heat coming off of the occupant next to her.

Briefly weighing her options, Mindy decides that snuggling up to Danny in his sleep (it's a victimless crime, he won't even know she's there) far outweighs that of an ongoing narration picturing her stuck in a mountain crevice after an avalanche - maybe after she just won gold at the Women's Downhill Slalom, if that's even a real thing - and then she has to cut off her own - - You know, yeah, this is why stealth cuddling Danny is the better plan. Trapped in a mountain scenarios always end in 127 Hours territory for some reason.

Mindy scooches closer to him, angling her head next to his arm in an unnatural position so she can get her body as close to him and all his glorious heat as possible. And it's all going wonderfully too, the feeling like she'll freeze to death any minute starting to fade, until she makes a terrible miscalculation. Mindy burrows in deep and when she does she presses her ice-cold nose into the thin material of his T-shirt and wakes him up.

There are a few option here: She can feign sleep and not move and see what he does. Or she can tell him she's cold and to be a gentleman about it and not say anything. Option one is looking pretty good because of the level of deniability it offers. While she's internally debating the finer points of both arguments Danny brings his arm up from between them to wrap around her shoulders and pull her flush to him, his body turning slightly in to hers, her head fitting snugly at his neck.

He touches her, not provocatively, or - not intentionally so. With his left hand curled around the edge of her shoulder, Danny strokes his right up and down her arm attempting to heat her up. It's working. And it's more reflex than anything when she runs her hand along his waist and around his back, sinking in closer. She just needs a little closer, for the warmth. And, okay, his shirt may have ridden up a little and three of her fingers _might_ be touching his bare skin.

Danny moves his head back slowly away from her, and she can acutely feel his gaze. It takes a long time to find the courage to look up.

Oh.

Oh, crap. He's about to kiss her; he is. She can feel it coming. And it feels inevitable suddenly. Like of course he's going to kiss her because this is the moment in which they've been headed for years. All the childish flirting, all the bickering, has been building to this. Mindy has a thought, a fleeting feeling, that if this is what all _those_ moments have been building toward, what must that mean _this_ moment is building toward? It makes her stomach churn unpleasantly for just a moment, the fear of fucking this up sinking in her guts like a stone.

Then Danny is kissing her, his lips soft and hesitant enough that maybe he's worried about messing this up too, that it wipes the fear cleanly out of her head. Mindy kisses him back, her lips sliding to fit in the spaces he left, and she pulls his body over hers. After that, Danny doesn't hesitate anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

It's too hot, but he can't seem to make himself move. Mindy is burrowed into his side, a wild spray of hair tickling his neck, and his heart is somewhere near there too, lodged in his throat. For an hour he's been lying there trying to build the courage to wake her up, to start this - whatever this is - and he's no better prepared than he was when he woke up.

It would help if he could read her mind. If he could know before he ever opens his mouth if she thinks this is some torrid, one-time thing, the memory of which is never to be mentioned. Or - he hopes - _or_ , does this mean that they give it a try.

If he slides his hand forward where it's resting on her hip and kisses her awake he's pretty sure that will make his opinion regarding the matter clear.

"God, why is it so hot?" He can feel the words as she speaks them into his shoulder.

"The power came back on about an hour ago."

"Oh."

Mindy doesn't move or say anything else, but the way she's pulled so tightly against him he can feel her heart beating against his ribcage. And he notices as it speeds up. Danny moves his fingers over the fabric of her pajamas, letting her know he is very aware of where they are. In turn she wiggles her fingers testingly on his waist, then shifts away abruptly, sitting up.

"I - um," she is hastily smoothing her wild halo of hair. "I have to pee." Her eyes flicker down to his mouth before she bolts, which is oddly reassuring.

Of course that isn't all she does, taking fifteen minutes before returning to the bedroom, the scent of minty toothpaste following her, every hair on her head in place and enough freshly applied makeup that he notices. She's wearing lip gloss.

He has stayed planted in her bed like a flag, not so subtly claiming his right to the spot. "Hey."

"Hey." She stands by the edge of the bed for a moment, looking like she wants to crawl back in. His fingers itch to reach and pull her down to him.

"I'm going to make some coffee. You want any?" she asks. Mindy's face is uncharacteristically expressionless and his palms are starting to get clammy, the thought filling his mind that maybe she wasn't thinking about getting back into bed with him, but how to get him out instead.

"Yeah. Sure." Mindy goes to the kitchen, and feeling a little foolish still keeping her bed under siege he gets up and goes to the bathroom. He does his own manly version of what she did and splashes water on his face, tries to calm down the crazy bedhead he's got going. He brushes his teeth and, damn it, he uses her toothbrush. It's only fair - she'd used his. He wants her to know he did it too, so he makes sure he leaves it in a different place than he found it.

She's standing in front of the window by the dining table when he comes out, arms crossed tightly. "It always surprises me how beautiful it can be," she says when he walks over to her, her gaze focused out the glass.

Mindy is painted with gray morning light, and even still looks luminous. "Yeah, absolutely beautiful. And surprising as hell."

"I'll remember it fondly once it's transformed into dirty, trash-filled mountains."

Right. The _snow_. They watch for a while as it continues to fall before she looks at him. And when she does he can practically see in her eyes the words she's been toeing around all morning: _we had sex_. That elephant is like a breathing presence in the room with them.

"Mindy -" his fingers brush the edge of her hand.

"Coffee's done, so. ." Danny doesn't try to stop her when she flees to the kitchen. She pulls flavored creamer out of the refrigerator and starts preparing their cups with the same serious expression she has when prepping for surgery. It would almost be cute if her flightiness wasn't making him second guess his every move.

You know what, screw that. Let her run. He's willing to chase her.

"So we're not going to talk about it?"

Her hand waivers when she reaches for a teaspoon, and he feels a little victorious, walking over and stepping into her space.

"What? The snow?" Her back is to him and he's close enough he can smell the sweet scent of her shampoo. Taking a finger, he sweeps her hair to one side exposing her neck.

"No. About how we had sex." Mindy gasps and he can't be sure if it's because he said the words out loud or if it's because as soon as he did he touched her neck with an open mouth, tasting her skin.

"Danny," It's all breath when she says his name, and it makes him want to push her against the cabinets and get her to say it again.

"Okay," she slides away from him, towards the island. "Let's talk about it."

He's a little disappointed now he can't just show her how he feels about it, but he started this conversation. Danny crosses his arms over his chest then remembers that's a defensive posture, not really what he wants to be projecting right now, and drops his arms. "Do you regret it?"

Her cheeks are flushed. "No. Do you?"

"No. Is that it?"

"I don't know," she replies.

"You don't know how you feel about us?"

"No, I meant I don't understand the question. Is that it, _what?_ " She nervously plays with the ends of her hair.

"Is all that you feel about this," he waves a hand between them. "You don't regret it and that's all there is. You don't have any other thoughts on the matter? You don't feel . . anything. Positive or negative?"

"Are you asking me if I want to do it again?" Mindy is trying to sound aghast, like somehow the idea is a complete surprise, and she's not pulling it off even a little.

"No, I'm - well. Yes. Sort of. And stop answering my question with a question." He clasps his palms together hard in frustration before throwing his hands out. "I'm not asking you if you want to have sex with me again. I'm asking, do you want to have sex with me again _and_ other stuff."

"What? Like kinky stuff? Because some stuff I could be into, but there's this one thing I read an article about on the internet that really just looks -"

"Mindy!"

"What? I'm answering your question like you asked."

He steps closer so that he can see clearly into her eyes, close enough to touch her depending on her response. "I _meant_ , do you - do you want to give this a shot? You and me."

"Is that what you want?"

"Did you just answer my question with another question?"

"Yes."

"You didn't have to- that was rhetorical."

"No, I know that. _Yes,_ that's what I want."

"Oh." Her eyes are bright and she's got a scared smile on her face and he's glad he's close enough to touch her. "Good."

"I think you should probably kiss me now."

"You do, huh?"

"It seems like the next appropriate step in this conversation." She's grinning slowly up at him through her lashes.

"Well, okay." He kisses her slowly, holding her arms to her side so she can't speed them up. He wants her to to be aware, to feel acutely every tug on her lips and flick of his tongue and understand they're full of intentions.

Danny doesn't realize he's walked them back until the counter stops them. He breaks away for a moment to catch his breath and maybe regain a little control. Mindy's eyes are glazed over and lids half-massed, staring at his mouth, and no, there is no 'regaining control' with her.

He's got a hand on her ass and teeth scraping her earlobe when she moans in his ear, and _Jesus_ , he's never going to be able to keep his hands off her at work. "Do you," he begins muttering into her skin. "What do you think the next appropriate step is?"

Mindy has her hand under his shirt and is lightly scratching down his back then slipping past the elastic waistband of his pants, her nails catching on bare skin causing every hair on his body raising at once. "You're doing pretty great. I think maybe you should just go with your gut."

Pushing her up on the counter-top and slowly unbuttoning that snowflake pajama top, his body fitted perfectly between her thighs, he thinks that is really good advice.


End file.
